What Desire is Greater than Fear?
by Harey
Summary: He sought to make allies of iron, of fear, of pain, of pleasure. To rule a realm of thorns and blood and flesh and poison. Careful who you enslave. Bend a life too far, and it might break. Sometimes, it just might snap back. [Nephamael]
1. Soulless Creature

**AN: Yay! I realized that I can download documents from Notepad! I can do things BY MYSELF now!**

**I hope I don't look stupid for trying to give Nephamael some depth. I hope I didn't totally screw up his character, either.**

**DO NOT be afraid to give reviews that are less than "Oh, that's really good! You should continue it!" If there's a problem, tell me. I'm sick of reading BAD fics and them getting nothing but positive feedback. On the other hand, don't flame me just to be doing it, either. Don't just be like "This sucks!" But if you have some constructive criticism, it would be appreciated.**

**And the title is from Francesca Lia Block's _Ecstasia._ So sad that there isn't an FLB section on this site...**

Nephamael glanced up at his queen for a moment, caught in her ethereal, icy loveliness. She was like a beautiful dead woman, but seconds after her death: elegant, having finally attained that stillness, that silence that all the living subconsciously desire, but may never obtain until it is indeed too late to save their souls. He wondered absently if Hell was anything like the Unseelie Court, and, if so, surely it wasn't filled with such fine debauchery? In fact, one might say of the Court that it was both Heaven and Hell simultaneously, filled with the promise of both pain and pleasure. It was the Heaven of a sinner, too far gone for any faint glimmer of hope or desire for redemption.

But what did one such as he know of such spiritual matters? He, who may never know the true meaning of Death, never feel its possessive embrace, wishing to know it intimately, but never venturing beyond halfhearted flirtation. More often than not, he found himself encouraging Death to call upon another, more willing lover, one of the many flinging themselves at it in helpless rage, the ones crawling on their hands and knees, begging, pleading for a taste of intimacy with the Shadow.

At times, Nephamael would act the part of Death himself, luring a healthy, succulent young mortal beneath the earth for an audience, until the company no longer amused him. Occasionally, he would indulge a more dysfunctional victim, reveling in exquisite imperfections. He would mark them as his own, never allowing them to forget that they belonged to him. The pull of life, however, was too strong for Nephamael to seek Death openly; there was more curious fascination than true desire involved.

He _did_ admire Nicnevin, if for no other reason than that she was every bit as heartless as he aspired to be, or, more accurately, than he thought himself to be. She certainly did favor him, though of course, in all honesty, he served no one but himself.

However, a creature that could not die also had no soul. And a soulless creature could not love. But no matter. Such sentiment was weakness, and was to be avoided at all costs. At times he thought he had glimpsed it, reflecting in the eyes of another, but never in himself. If he had indeed ever felt its presence, he had allowed it to go unnoticed.

He wished to _become_ his greatest vulnerability, to make himself cold and hard as iron, to burn anyone who dared to touch him. He had encased himself in thorns, ensuring no unwelcome intrusions. Nothing would ever touch him again.

Of course, there was pain, but only superficial, physical pain, a sort of pain that was of no consequence to him. That sort of pain meant nothing. As for the other pain, he had never known that.

But on occasion he would strip away the defenses, drawing others to him like flies to honey, or perhaps a decaying corpse. Either way, he was equally attractive to insects such as these. He would call them to him to feel their admiration, their desire, their need for his attention, then abruptly reject their offers for sex, for blood, even for love, which both startled and intrigued him, but he never allowed it to be seen. A concept he would never come to understand.

He loved to feel as if they needed him, but secretly, he knew he needed _them._ After all, as much as he would like to think it real, it was all just enchantment anyway.

What, he wondered, would anyone--human or fey--do without their deceptions? Surely humans, without their lies, and the Folk, without their glamour and illusions, couldn't survive the pain of being stripped of what gave them the strength of mind to carry on their existences.


	2. Feast on Fear

**AN: Again on messing with Nephamael's character. The whole thing with him and women is happening because in my opinion, he's too much of a whore to have one sexual preference. And you're lucky I'm giving you this today instead of making you wait for it, but I didn't want to.**

Nephamael danced among the revelers, drunk on sickeningly sweet faerie wine that must have the blood of something in it, teeth stained red with it, flesh thirsting for the sweat of another. Perhaps he would assume the role of Death tonight, and pay someone a visit. He slipped gracefully through the assembled throng, hunting for the perfect victim. He barely felt the delicate glass he'd been holding slip carelessly from his hand, landing with a satisfying shattering sound to crunch under the thick soles of his heavy boots.

There were so many open, wet mouths, warm bodies both male and female, pounding hearts, hands brushing against him, that it made him even more lightheaded than he already was. He staggered back, disoriented for a moment, lost in the clamor of chaotic merriment. Yes, they were all lost. Hopelessly, helplessly lost.

The fear that flickered in their eyes as he passed empowered him. The tension hung thickly in the air: Who would be the one selected to entertain his desires? Some of them craved his sadistic affections, but he would not indulge them. He would feast on fear as well as blood tonight.

He stopped abruptly. his cruel yellow eyes locking with silver ones. Her features were fine and strikingly fair, with her skin that was nearly as white as his, and long hair that was even whiter. She certainly didn't look like any creature of the Unseelie Court that he had ever seen, but she certainly looked familiar. She appeared to trap light, while he seemed to devour it. How ironic: He planned to devour her.

For a moment he pondered what one could do with that hair. Many appealing things, surely. Perhaps he could keep her and make it into a leash or some such thing. Or maybe he could just choke her with it; that would be fun.

She attempted to bolt, but he caught her by the shoulders and pulled her toward him, his grip firm, unmerciful. He kissed her aggressively, pressing his slender, muscular body up against hers, one hand holding her to him by the back of her neck, the other around her waist. He bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, which he sucked away hurriedly. He released a low, silky purr that was either indicative of impatient desire or satisfaction. Suddenly, he became surprisingly gentle, his kisses becoming deeper, softer, his hands roaming slowly over her body.

He snatched a handful of her hair and pulled her head back, exposing her neck, which he then began to bite--not very hard, but hard enough. He stopped for a moment, to whisper breathlessly against her skin.

"So innocent…Whatever are you doing in a place such as this?" Though he had loosened his hold on her slightly, she remained frozen, paralyzed with fear.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked, sounding surprisingly calm and accepting.

He laughed: a cruelly, playful sound. "That depends," he replied, his voice both rough and silky at once. "Did you come here to die?" He released her hair, but tightened his hold on her, though that no longer seemed necessary.

"Yes," she responded, making a valiant effort to look dignified.

He pulled back, and after a moment of just looking at her, smirked. "In that case, I will not."

Why?" She sounded indignant, as if she had been cheated of something.

He grinned wickedly, the expression attractive but frightening. "Because I wish to cause you pain," he answered bluntly. "It would hardly be enjoyable if I did not. There would be no point."

She shuddered; her reaction pleased him. Suddenly, he was able to recall where he had seen her: in the Seelie Court; she belonged to the Queen. He remembered seeing another pretty one that looked like her--one of Silarial's knights. Her brother, perhaps?

"Come," he commanded, taking a long silvery lock of her hair and pulling her after him with it toward a surface he could press her against. Enough small talk. He would have his way with her now.

"Release the girl, Nephamael." Or maybe not. "Nicnevin wishes to speak with you_ immediately_. She specified that I was to make it quite clear that the matter is urgent."

Nephamael sighed, irritated to be interrupted this way, before he had barely begun. He wanted to tell the other knight to advise Nicnevin to do something especially unpleasant, but refrained from doing so, as that would hardly accomplish anything other than misfortune on his part.

"Fine." He wondered what this "urgent matter" was. Most likely something trivial. She tended to do that. But something about the other knight's tone told him that this was a truly critical concern.

As much as he regretted doing so, he released the girl and hastily made his way through the crowd, who now parted easily for him, to Nicnevin, kneeling before her to kiss the hem of her blood red gown, his dark hair gathering on the ground.

"Rise, Nephamael."

He did so easily, meeting her gaze without bothering to mask the look of annoyed impatience on his face. She laughed at that. "Interrupt something, did I? No matter; I think you will enjoy the task I am about to set you to." She would kill others for what he had just dared to do, but she favored him and let him get away with more than she would others. Rumor had it that they were lovers, and there was some truth to this, although they held no genuine attachment to one another. They would have their occasional dalliances, of course, but nothing more than that.

"But I am afraid that there is less desirable news I must convey to you beforehand. You are aware that my sister has been more willing to make negotiations recently. After much debate, we have come to the agreement that you are to come into her service, and she will send one of her most faithful knights to me." She paused for a moment and smiled, looking threateningly amused at something unbeknownst to him.

"He wishes to be her consort, the wretched fool. He_ is_ quite pretty though, and deeply devoted to her. But back to the matter at hand..

"I know how deeply you despise the Seelie Court, but I am sure that if you are persuasive enough, she will allow you to return here often. And I know just how persuasive you can be, Nephamael." Her voice grew low and suggestive as she made to prevent his displeasure with flirtation.

"But not persuasive enough, I'm afraid, to talk me out of this decision," she finished promptly, before he got the wrong idea. Surprisingly enough, he had managed to talk her out of (and into) things before, and he was usually even capable of influencing her judgment in matters of the Court if he so wished. She would not have allowed this from any of her other knights, but, as usual, Nephamael was the exception.

He scowled darkly at this, but then carefully relaxed his expression into neutrality, replying smoothly with "Of course, my lady. You _know_ I live to serve you." He couldn't keep the bite of sarcasm out of his voice, nor the mischievous smirk from alighting on his face. He had his own plans--plans that didn't necessarily correspond with her own.


	3. Rotting Away in the Seelie Court

**AN: Once again, you are privaleged to be receiving this at this time. I have another chapter in progress, but it is unifinished as of yet.**

So, here he was, rotting away in the excruciatingly dull Seelie Court, scanning for some sort of entertainment. Unfortunately, none seemed to fit his taste. He glanced at Silarial, wondering how that other knight could even stand to _look_ at her, much less be in _love_ with her. She was certainly lovely, but in such a way that made her most annoying to look upon. Weak too, without an ounce of her sister's sense to be cruel. Silarial lacked Nicnevin's sharp edge; she was all blunt and soft, and it sickened him. There was no attraction to be found in that, to be certain. At times he was tempted to hurt her, but that was all she tempted him to do.

And the way she regarded him--how amusing! The expression of disgust was so evident in her face; she made no effort to hide her distaste for him. To Nephamael, Nicnevin had seemed to be the only one gaining any benefit from the situation; both knights detested the Courts they had been sent to, and Silarial hated Nephamael, but Nicnevin was delighted with her Roiben.

Perhaps this was because Nephamael had been too clever to allow Nicnevin to trick his true name out of him, the way she had Roiben right off, therefore he lacked the dignity to refuse when she ordered him to get down on his hands and knees and be her table or some such ridiculous thing. She had tried that sort of thing on Nephamael, but had soon learned that one didn't screw with him, Queen or no. In fact, more often than not, _he _was screwing with _her_. _That_ was the way it was done. Yes, it had been quite obvious that the poor naive fool hadn't a chance the moment he had set foot in the Unseelie Court.

Nevertheless, Nephamael loved the idea that he seemed to taint the Bright Court with his iron, spreading a sort of plague throughout the place, and that their Queen despised him. It seemed a fair price for his being forced to serve her, that he should make them as miserable as he was.

In fact, he was beginning to resent Nicnevin for sending him here. He wondered absently how he could get back at her for doing so. There was the Tithe coming up...To sabotage such a grand, chaotic revel would be sweetly disastrous...But how?

Nephamael examined his surroundings, searching for some small way to humiliate Nicnevin, to bring about disorder in the Night Court, make them blame her for it...All he saw were little children running around and being stroked and teased by the fey, most of them probably changeling...Changelings. That was exactly it. He would find a changeling and persuade Nicnevin to use it for the Tithe, perhaps tricking it into thinking it could fake its own death. Then he would rip off its glamour for all to see. Possibly someone would take the opportunity to kill Nicnevin, leaving him to... The thought of such power made him shiver.

Had there not been one from the Seelie Court in the past few years? He would have to get on Silarial's good side, of course; strike a bargain with her. It would be difficult, but not impossible; persuasion was his area of expertise, after all. He could charm anyone to his will, if he so wished.

"My Lady," he managed to choke out, disgusted with himself for being so servile to this soft, ineffective doll-queen. Was it really possible that she was of any relation to Nicnevin? Maybe he should be plotting _her_ death, instead. But that would hardly be of any benefit to him.

She turned her gaze to him wordlessly, a single brow lifted questioningly.

"If I would make a proposition?"

"Why the sudden change? You usually do nothing but sulk about looking bored."

"I _am_ bored. If you would remind me once more why I am here?"

"If you would like me to retract this treaty, go right ahead with your sulking."

"That was indeed my intention."

She leaned forward, appearing a bit more interested. "Speak, knight. I would hear of your intentions."


	4. No Time for Games Tonight

**AN: I really didn't mean to make him sound like a vampire...He's not. He's just very carnivorous and predatory at times. BTW, it's the _spilled _blood he's sensing. Like some kind of animal or something. Not a freakin' vampire**. **Also, notice that I named the chapters! Yay! And yes, I realized that free new writing software is being offered...I'll be sure to install that...sometime...Please consider reviewing. I'm starting to feel lonely.**

_So close_. The smell of the blood was making his senses sharpen to the point of pain, filling him with an intense sort of energy, a rush of adrenaline that wouldn't fade easily. Not to kill something would be a travesty. He forced himself to take a deep breath, but the smell of that blood was so _maddening._ He knew that most of the other revelers could sense it, the way he was tensing up, the barely repressed _desire_, right underneath the surface, close enough to break free if someone didn't know to stay away.

He had been sent to deliver a message to Nicnevin, but that could wait. _Everything_ could wait at this point. He didn't get like this often, but when he did it was almost incapacitating. He bit his own tongue to relieve just a little of the need that was overwhelming him, shivering as the taste of his own blood seemed to calm the fire just enough to make it tolerable, but the pain only seemed to intensify his senses.

His body tensed reflexively as another intentionally brushed against it, He felt hands stroke his hair, his neck. He moaned softly. The contact was unbearable. Everything was spinning by now. No time for games tonight.

He had her down before she knew he had moved. He straddled her, his long, powerful legs strong enough to pin her to the ground, to keep her from moving. He jerked her head back, revealing her throat.

"Now you must give me what you offered."

He took her quickly, not bothering to tease her first. Slick, hot, wet, pounding. Then that silence, relief, exhaustion settling in, like a fever breaking.

He left her body where it was. He smirked as he realized how messy he _hadn't _been; even in his state, he had managed not to get a drop on him. Such an efficient killing machine. But he had been sated for the night.

That message...What had it been again? He couldn't think; the relief that had come from the kill had made his thoughts start to run more slowly. But outwardly, no one would know that he had been affected. He seemed his usual cold, calm self.

Gradually the haze diminished, and by the time he reached Nicnevin, his head was clear. She was speaking to her plaything just then, teasing him about some mortal he was acquainted with, encouraging him to use her for the Tithe. Little did she know, the girl was no mortal: She was the changeling Nephamael had spoken to Silarial about, and to top it all off, she was the poor fool's new interest! All the more amusing to watch him conduct her to her own sacrifice. All this was just _too_ enjoyable, really.

In fact, there she was now, watching with a kind of rapt fascination. So she had discovered it for herself, that she was not what she seemed. It was a bit annoying, actually, to find that she had already removed the human glamour. He would have to put another one on her soon enough. He might as well go and talk to her now. Just as he was about to do so, a voice came from behind him.

"Ah, Nephamael, just where I expected to find you."

He turned to find that the voice addressing him came from Mabry, a woman from the Seelie Court he had been conspiring with. Silarial had been greatly interested by his proposal, and had wished to use the opportunity to rule the Unseelie Court through him. Perhaps she meant to get him out of the way when the job was done, but he would not allow that to happen. He could kill her _so_ easily, and once he managed to get the throne from Nicnevin, he would be sure to do so while he had the chance.

Mabry was loyal to Silarial, or at least she appeared to be. It was far more likely that she had her own motives. He knew not to trust her, and she would have been very unwise to trust him, but for now their alliance was working out quite nicely.

"I come with a message from Silarial, although I am under the impression that she simply wants me away from her. Not that I mind. Not in the least."

"I came to speak to you. There is--" She barely got the chance to speak before she was cut off.

"Nephamael" It seemed that Nicnevin was done with her toy for now, and had turned her attention to him.

"Later," he said to Mabry, and approached Nicnevin, kneeling to kiss the hem of her gown.

"Rise, Nephamael. I understand that you are here with a message for me."

Nephamael rose to his feet, unable to repress the grin that leapt onto his face at the thought of his private joke on the Queen of the Night Court. He hoped she wouldn't take notice of his unusually high spirits.

"This is the message my Lady would have you hear. My Lady said that although there is a truce in the matter of war, she wonders at the matter of mortal influence. She has some favorites that cross your borders and seeks a means of giving them safe passage through your lands. I am told to await your reply. She did not seem to think I need hurry back. I must confess it is good to be home in time for the Tithe."

"Is that all she said?" Was that suspicion he detected in her tone? Was it really _that _obvious he was keeping something from her?

"Indeed," he replied smoothly, "although one of the Queen's courtiers begged me to ask after her brother. It seems that she hasn't had any news from him since he joined your court. A sweet thing, that girl. Very long white hair--one could almost wind a leash of it if one was so inclined. She looks very like the knight you just spoke with,' he purred, smiling again predatorily as he thought of Ethine and the pleasure her sweet fear had brought. "She wants to know why you never use him as a messenger."

"It is good to have you home, Nephamael." She too smiled, and the warmth, even _fondness _in her tone surprised and pleased him. "Perhaps you can help my knight acquire our sacrifice."

"It would be my honor. In fact, I think I have heard of a very suitable candidate indeed. She is already acquainted with a member of your court." His gaze flickered to Roiben, who was in some corner threatening that pixie girl, or at least appearing to. There was nothing truly _threatening _about him, really. Just a pawn in the games of a sadistic queen.

"Listening in on our conversation, were you? Yes, he seems to be very interested in that girl. Did you hear the way he spoke of her? You know how I love to torment him. It makes her all the more suitable, don't you think?"

Nephamael nodded, but his attention was already elsewhere. He spotted a human boy, who looked as if he had been drinking things a human body shouldn't be digesting. He was even somewhat pretty, in a vulnerable sort of way that most humans couldn't see. A way that made Nephamael want to play with him a bit. Perhaps he would, once Nicnevin was done with him...


	5. A Sweet Thing, That Girl

**AN: This chapter was quite a challenge for me to write, but it was a welcome one. Thank you to Gwynhafara, for sparking my interest on Ethine. After reading _Ironside_, I decided that I didn't like her much. She was really, _really_ cold. I decided there must be things going on with her that were really...well...You get the idea. I love writing about characters with issues.**

**And yes, I know the time frame's screwed up. It was years between when Roiben and Nephamael got traded and when the Tithe occurred. But at this point, I really don't care. XP**

Ethine wasn't sure what to feel. It seemed as if her emotions had always been a little off, as if she always felt _wrong_ about things. And now...when she may lose Roiben...she felt..._nothing_. She _did_ care for him, it was just...she was numb. Inside.

Perhaps that was why she'd gone to the Unseelie Court. To feel. To _die._ She hadn't quite understood that at first. Why she'd said that to him. Why she'd been _able_ to say that to him. But later it all made sense.

She still wasn't sure whether she'd gone to find herself or lose herself. Maybe both. She'd gone to burn away everything that made her who she was. To consume herself through darkness and fire. To die, _in a way_. And ultimately, it had saved her.

When she thought of Nephamael, the way he'd looked at her...a heavy dread settled upon her, a dread that was laced with a strange thrill. Fear, but...something else. He was the perfect embodiment of what she wanted.

She wasn't attracted to_ him_, not really, she told herself. She was attracted to what he represented, what he offered. Pain and pleasure. To entertain her darkest desires.

She saw him now, speaking to the Queen. So _he'd_ been the one traded with Roiben? She wanted to talk to him, but...Fear twisted within her, choking her. She saw his catlike eyes turn to her. He smiled, looked at the Queen for a moment, said something to her, then headed over in Ethine's direction.

The closer he came, the more air left her lungs. He took her breath away, literally. Part of her wanted to turn and run, and part of her wanted to stay and let him do or say whatever he wanted to her.

"Wh-what do you want?" was all she managed to choke out, a little too quickly.

"I think you know what I want," he replied, "and I know you want it as much as I do."

He was dangerously close. So close that she could feel the warmth coming from his body. It was enough to send chills down her spine, to make the fine hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

She forced herself to step back, but he caught her by the wrist and pulled her closer. "I don't think you want to walk away from me."

She didn't.

She forced her tongue to move again, her mouth to form words. "When you...go back...ask him...my brother...to send some word. I want to hear from him. I haven't for so long..."

Her heart was pounding now; she wanted to say something, do something, but she was frozen, paralyzed with fear, and...whatever that other thing was.

He looked at her for a long moment, as if expecting her to say something else. Waiting. She laughed softly as she thought about what Roiben would do if he saw them like this. Kill Nephamael, certainly.

"What?" This had obviously confused him.

"I don't know..."

There was a moment of powerful tension.

He kissed her hard, his teeth cutting her lower lip. She gasped, clinging to him, letting her hands slide through his long black hair, sleek and fine, daring to kiss back herself. She crushed herself up against his body, loving the feel of the firm muscle and hard bone underneath it.

This wasn't like before at the revel; this had more power, more desire--from_ her_. This shocked and delighted her; when his tongue brushed against hers, she felt another jolt of hunger constrict in her veins, this time accompanied by a soft moan.

He was the fire, and she was burning.

When she'd had enough of that, _she_ began to bite _him_, and that was when he pulled away. She found herself panting softly, and after a second of silence he said quietly,

"I will be sure to tell him that."

_Yes_, Ethine thought as Nephamael walked away, _Roiben will definitely be dealing out some death if word of this gets out._


	6. Enough to Spite her Brother

**AN: I _really_ enjoyed writing this. I thought about it, and I decided that if Roiben did find out, it would be from Nephamael himself. He's so cocky and arrogant; I figured he would love to gloat over something like this. Poor Roiben!**

**Just to warn you, with the way this is going, I might end up changing the rating. Then again, that might decrease its popularity, so I don't know.**

**Screw Kirby. I'm not waiting a week.**

Roiben forced himself to breathe. How _dare_ that bastard speak to Ethine? He had no right to even_ look _at her! And whatever else he'd done...Although the way Nephamael had put it, _she_ had been doing most of it.

"Your sister has been absolutely _begging_ me to speak to you on her behalf. But that's not the only thing she has been begging me for." That serpentine smile that Roiben detested so much. "She just can't keep her hands off me. Her teeth either, really. I rather think she's madly attracted to me."

Subtle? Not in the least. No, Roiben doubted that word was in Nephamael's vocabulary.

It had taken all the restraint Roiben could muster not to make an attempt at Nephamael's life right then and there.

Even so, he couldn't help but search frantically for a way for Nephamael to have stretched the truth a bit. He _was_ attractive, if cruelly so; Roiben had to give him that...but surely...surely _Ethine_ wasn't attracted to him?

"If you threatened her..."

"I didn't have to," Nephamael confirmed smugly. "She simply flung herself at me. Quite a fierce kisser. Surprising power in that pretty little body. I wouldn't have thought--"

A sharp crack resounded throughout the brugh as Roiben's hand connected with Nephamael's flesh. Nephamael stumbled back, shocked by the sudden contact. There were a few collective gasps from those assembled courtiers gawking at the spectacle before them.

"If you _ever_ touch my sister again, you will pay with your life." Roiben stopped for a moment, forced another deep breath, and continued. "If I hear from her that she truly holds any affection for you, I will question her sanity, and, indeed, her will to live. But for now I can only assume that you have influenced her in some way.

"You are fortunate to have lived as long as you have with that tongue of yours. I have no doubt that it has gotten you into as much trouble as it has gotten you out of, if not more. In fact, I am surprised to find it still in your head at all.

"You may also find it wise to avoid me in the future. If--"

"Spare me your tirade," Nephamael snapped, careful to remain a suitable distance away from Roiben. "I will be sure to keep as far away from you as possible. However, I cannot say the same of Ethine. What business she would have with me is her own, and no concern of yours.. If you wish to resolve the matter, settle it with her. I, however, have nothing more to say to you."

With that, Nephamael turned and stalked off, nursing his wounded pride. To have been humiliated like that in front of _his_ court! Disgraceful, really. If that pathetic Seelie didn't watch his back, he'd find himself in quite a predicament. Perhaps Nephamael would cut out_ his_ tongue, simply to prove a point: _No one_ insulted Nephamael without punishment.

Maybe he would even introduce Ethine to his thorns, fill her with his sweet poison. Once she had a taste of_ that_, he would have her addicted for life. He would _own_ her, inside and out, as thoroughly as a man owns his name. That should be _more_ than enough to spite her brother.

He knew he didn't_ need_ to do that; she was already writhing helplessly in his grasp. And the strange thing was, he _hadn't_ influenced her in any way at all--yet. She had _willingly_ given herself to him, and he guessed it wouldn't be long before she openly sought him out, this time pleading for more than just a kiss.

He would_ love_ to see her burn.


	7. Poison Filled Pleasure Doll

**AN: ...Enjoy...**

Ethine shivered as Nephamael stroked her cheek lightly, enjoying the warmth of his skin. His eyes were strange; it was as if he were looking not at her, but through her, as though she were made of delicate glass that he was contemplating whether to break or not.

It was thrilling, being alone with him. She herself had requested his company, telling him to meet her someplace they wouldn't be seen. Apparently Roiben had found out, and had been quite upset. She would have to talk to him soon, before things got out of hand.

For a moment she wondered how Roiben knew, who had told him, but quickly decided it didn't matter. What mattered was that she was alone with Nephamael, where no one would see them.

"What do you desire?" Nephamael asked her very quietly, still gazing a little beyond her, as if his lovely voice might break the glass too soon. His hand had ventured lower now, sliding down her neck, gently grazing her collarbone.

She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed, not responding, just letting him touch her. He began to use his other hand to play with her hair, threading it through his long fingers.

He was taunting her, she knew, but she couldn't say she wasn't enjoying it.

"Release," she whispered, still not opening her eyes as the hand in her hair slid down past her neck, below her collarbone, just above her breast.

"I can give you that," he invited. He was very close to her now; she could feel his breath on her neck.

She opened her eyes at that, to find him close enough to kiss her...again. Instead, she leaned forward and flicked her tongue against his slightly parted lips teasingly.

"Oh," he breathed softly, as if surprised by her sudden, heated advance. "I take it you've accepted my offer...?"

She licked him again as a response, but this time he flicked his tongue out against hers, catching her by surprise. They pulled back for a brief moment, each hesitantly but hotly gauging the other's reaction. He let his hand slip down between her breasts.

Ethine flushed with pleasure as he stroked there for a lingering moment, then he wrapped his arm around her waist. She leaned forward tentatively, as if contemplating another advance, but pulled back as if unsure. His other hand disentangled itself from her hair and pulled her to him.

He chose to amuse himself with her game, kissing her until her tongue brushed across his lips then pulling back until she attempted to pull him to her and reclaim his mouth, then licking her and pulling back again. This was clearly torturing her, but her desire seemed to rise with the torment.

When he finally allowed her to have her way with him, she kissed him aggressively, surprising him with her passion. Soft little moans came from her throat, and she slipped her arms up under his cloak to feel the warmth of his body...

What she felt instead were thorns, thick and sharp, scraping her skin mercilessly. Instead of the usual pain she had come to expect from such things, she felt an intense jolt of pleasure throughout her body. She stopped kissing him and whimpered, letting her head loll back and allowing him to slowly lick her neck, from her collarbone to her jaw. She shuddered and moaned again, letting the strange fever wrack her body.

Her arms, shocked into numbness, dropped from him lifelessly. She was like a poison-filled pleasure-doll, her silvery eyes glazed and gazing glassily. She might have seemed dead were it not for her the way her breath came in quick gasps, her skin so hot it almost burned to touch her, but Nephamael had grown used to burning long ago.

He could have done anything he wished to her at that moment, but was tiring of this little game. Now she was all limp and boring, and there was nothing left to amuse him. He gave her one last slow lick and left her alone in her state. May her brother have the pleasure of finding her.


	8. Sibling Rivalry

**AN: Yay! This chapter was fun. I loved writing all the dialogue between Nephamael and Dulcamara! The thought of them being siblings makes a lot of sense; they are very similar in certain ways...I think someone may have mentioned the idea on Holly Black's LiveJournal...I also focused on setting description (this is a lot for me: I actually thought it out this time). And I chose to put the thing with Neph and the never (I don't know what faeries would call it) in, because he would _have _to take _something _to be as powerful as he is with that iron constantly draining him like that...And it's just sort of ironic, because while he would almost certainly be a target for the poisonings, he managed to avoid it, but ended up being poisoned anyway! And that wasn't even what really killed him!**

* * *

"My dear brother," Dulcamara purred poisonously, "now is _not_ the time to be seducing some poor girl...Can I have her when you've tired of her?" she asked, swinging her long legs from the high tombstone she was perched upon. It was warmed by the intense sunlight streaming from the cloudless sky, its lettering so worn and faded as to be illegible.

"No," Nephamael snapped, "I may need to keep her alive." His features seemed all the more sharp and unearthly, his pallor almost blindingly white in the sun.

"And if you don't?"

Nephamael smirked. "In that case, I will finish her myself."

"Can I have the boy then?"

Nephamael sighed and began to stroke the rough bark of a nearby tree. "My dear sister," he growled, his sarcasm mocking Dulcamara's, "your appetite for such things is insatiable."

And yours is not? If anything, I get it from you. You _are_ older, after all. And much more promiscuous than I, to be certain. I mean, you have _two_! And that's quite a low number for you...Not to mention your little affair with Nicnevin...Imagine having seduced the Lady of the Night Court!"

"You speak as though this is a great accomplishment. My Lady is a whore," he stated matter-of-factly. leaning on the tree to catch his weight. He hadn't slept for a good while, and the blinding sunlight streaming in between the branches of the tree was not helping his viciously pounding headache. He closed his eyes for a moment, but the light still seemed to penetrate thoroughly into his skull, despite the shadows the leaves cast on his face.

"And what would that make you? Much more than a whore, certainly. I am sure you have her on her knees nightly, begging you for pleasures intense enough to leave her gasping." The sarcasm was not lost on Nephamael.

He drew in a shaky breath and straightened, determined not to appear weak in front of his sister, who would take any opportunity she had to make use of what disadvantages he may present, however small. Dulcamara laughed, and the sharp sound made him cringe, but only inwardly. He would be sure to take some of that...whatever folk were calling it...ater.

"Are you actually resorting to flattery to get what you want?" he continued smoothly, ignoring her little outburst. "I can assure you that it's not going to work to your benefit."

"Have you spoken to the pixie yet? Are things in order?"

"Aren't you impatient? No, I have not approached her as of now, but things are 'in order', so to speak. I have managed to drive her and her mother a little out of the city and a bit farther into our hands. I must find Nicnevin's new toy; I have been told he may assist me in attaining her for the sacrifice. He loves the pixie girl. _I'll_ love to watch him kill her.." He grinned. "Nicnevin still doesn't know," he added quietly, casting an apprehensive glance around the area, lest anyone may be watching...

* * *

Ethine winced as rough bark grazed the long wounds running down her arms, making her shudder. A single auburn leaf fell from the tree to land at Nephamael's feet. He glanced up for a moment, and Ethine dimly realized that she had forgotten the significance of breathing. Fortunately, she had managed to keep herself well-glamoured, and her presence had gone unnoticed--for the moment.

She was admittedly not the tree-climbing type, but Roiben had taught her well...Roiben. He had found her, lying inert on the ground, in a feverish sort of state. He had known there was something wrong, and that Nephamael was almost certainly the cause, but the exact problem had been a mystery to him. He had nursed her back to health; however, he still expected a full explanation from her once this had been done.

She had told him everything, about Nephamael, how she had met him in the Night Court, her powerful attraction to him, how effortlessly he had seduced her, how she had intentionally allowed him to hurt her...It pained Roiben to hear such things, but he had appreciated her honesty. He could not forbid her to see Nephamael, but she could see that it pained him; made him suffer even more than he was already...

She found herself more afraid of what Roiben might do to Nephamael for hurting her...He had seemed out for blood at first...She had meant to speak to Nephamael, to warn him; at the very least touch him, but instead..._this_ had happened...

"Which is why we are here in the middle of the day, instead of sleeping as we should be," Dulcamara protested with a sigh. She studied Nephamael for a moment, then a slow smile spread across her face. She jumped down from the headstone in a single, fluid motion, and stepped closer to him.

"You look quite drained yourself, Nephamael," she said softly, lightly brushing her finger over his iron circlet, leaving a slight burning sensation along the pad of her finger. "What will you do now?"

"Find her, I suppose," he answered, jerking away from Dulcamara's touch. He never knew what that touch might mean. She was very like him in that respect--one never knew when she may be evaluating a person's vulnerabilities..."And take some...whatever it is. As much of it as possible. And sleep. That is undoubtedly an agreeable notion..."

Ethine dug her nails deeper into the bark of the tree, finding it a little softer than she had expected. Her feelings for Roiben were now settled. She would _not_ have him getting hurt...Even if that meant giving up Nephamael and all his beautiful burning...


	9. Never More

**AN: Thanks, Chelinda, for the inspiration. This was fun! I love Neph's personality...**

Nephamael quickly downed the last of his wine and reclined back on his bed, endeavoring to ignore the peculiar taste of the iron-preventative powder and his increasing restlessness. He had taken far more than he should have, he knew, but he would not allow any weakness to show as a result of the iron burning on his brow.

It was beginning to have delightfully strange effects on him, he noticed vaguely. The shadows were beginning to dance on the walls, and the dim candlelight seemed to hold a different quality, though he couldn't have said how. He looked down to find that his skin had taken on a faint bluish cast, but instead of alarming him as this should have, he found it oddly fascinating.

A chill shot up his spine, and he gasped, then sighed and relaxed, running his fingers lightly down the side of his neck, the side of his body. This was very nice indeed. The light in the room began to assume a deep crimson glow, and the air became chokingly thick and sweet. He could feel his heart speeding; the taste of the powder and wine was rapidly being replaced by that of blood. He ran the tip of his tongue over his teeth, and moaned softly as it was cut by the sharp point of his canine.

"No," he mumbled gently to himself, not even really sure what he was referring to. He smiled, and a sharp, random laugh escaped him. After a moment he realized that his nails were deeply imbedded in the flesh of his arm, and licked at the blood, shuddering at the sweet taste.

He jumped when the door opened, and something silver flashed before him. He felt a hand connect with the side of his face, but surprisingly enough, he felt no pain. "Ethine..." His voice came out rougher than usual.

"What have you gotten my brother involved in?" Nephamael laughed, and the sound seemed to frighten Ethine. "Tell me!" she shrieked, hysterical with the thought of Roiben getting into some sort of dangerous situation, for she knew he would fling himself into death intentionally, given the chance. She hit him again, frustrated at the fact that it had no effect on him.

"When are you going to learn that isn't going to work?" He seemed calm, almost too calm, in fact. She noticed that his normally yellow eyes were now a deep sapphire color; his skin held the palest blue tint. The air was strange and sweet and it was becoming very hard to breathe. Then she saw the empty goblet of wine and the shimmering of amber powder that clung to the inside.

She looked back at him and he was gazing at her as if lost and smiling. His mouth was bleeding. He reached forward and touched a strand of her hair that hung down as she leaned over him. She jerked back, dreading his touch.

"_I_ have gotten him involved in nothing. Well, sort of...Anyway, he is supposed to be getting the sacrifice for the Tithe. However, she is not human, but a changeling; a pixie, in fact. He is simply besotted with her, although he still thinks she is mortal. He'll find out soon enough...once she's _dead_!"

She shuddered at the mad sort of glee that seemed to radiate from him. "What's the point of this? Are you trying to kill him?"

"No my dear, I'm trying to get _Nicnevin_ killed. _They..._will be very angry once they find out she tried to trick them into unnecessary bondage. No, they won't like that at all... And when they aren't bound to us for seven years..._So_ much death..."

"And if you _don't_ manage to get her killed? What then? Surely you'll be held accountable. Either you or Roiben. Most likely the both of you."

"She wouldn't dare accuse me of such a thing. I would kill her without hesitation if she did, and I believe she is aware of that." Ethine noticed his appearance beginning to return to normal, though he was still bleeding..

"Then why does she keep you around, if she knows you're such a threat? You don't even belong to her, not anymore."

"I never _belonged_ to her," he snapped, somewhat defensively. "I own her as much as one might say she once owned me. She has a certain fondness for me...Perhaps that was why she chose to send me away, to keep me at arm's length. In fact, I might even pay her a private visit once you're finished pestering me. I know she would like that." He smirked, as if at some inside joke with himself.

She thought of something insulting to say to him, something that would feed him a bit of the hate she was beginning to feel for him. But what would insult him? After a moment of pondering, she realized the answer was sitting right in front of her.

"You wear that...that iron...to feel stronger, don't you? You can handle it. You can handle anything...as long as you have help. Excessive help. You couldn't handle it without that Never, could you?"

He turned and gave her a look so intimidating that for a moment she thought he was going to kill her. Then he grinned, and it was the most horrific expression she had ever seen. His teeth were much sharper and longer than she'd realized before. She watched with growing horror as he reached up and removed the iron circlet, releasing an unintended gasp at the charred and blackened skin underneath, scarred so deep that it would never heal. She nearly choked on the smell of burned flesh.

But that wasn't all he was doing. A raw scream of pain tore from her throat as he set the circlet on her head. "Want some Never now?" she heard him offer silkily, holding it on her as she continued to shriek and claw at his hands ineffectively. "Such a pity. I'd just _hate_ to ruin your beautiful skin."

He released her as her leg shot out and she kicked him hard in the stomach. He doubled over and coughed, glistening garnet blood spattering the bed. After a terrified moment, Ethine shot out the door, a streak of silver terror.

Nephamael gasped in a rattling breath and called after her, "Roiben _wants_ this, Ethine! You are a fool to keep him from the death he desires! He will find some way to die!"


	10. Killing Time

**AN: Neph is so naughty. XD And Nicnevin is a whore. Corny is being cleaned up by the servant women.**

Nephamael swept into Nicnevin's elaborately glamoured chambers, finding things just as he had predicted.

She seemed to have been anticipating his arrival somehow, as she was dressed in a interestingly translucent black gown that plunged low beyond the swell of her milky breasts. "Ah, Nephamael, I've been expecting you."

"Isn't that obvious?" he muttered under his breath.

"What?" Nicnevin's fine brow wrinkled in confusion.

"Nothing at all, mistress," he replied smoothly, with a quick downward glance and a charmingly poisonous smile.

She tried to pull him in to her, but he pulled away and crossed to the other side of the room, feigning interest in some odd object or another. Nicnevin pouted, pondering a way to gain his attention. She knew he was playing with her, trying to get her to beg, and it was working. If he chose to indulge her, it would be of his own accord.

She stayed where she was, although she could feel those long, powerful legs pacing the room restlessly. "Is the girl being prepared?" she asked, and he stopped somewhere behind her.

"Yes, you have her enchanted quite well, I believe." She thought she could hear the grin in his voice. "Your poor Roiben is tending to her now. Probably giving her a last kiss to seal their love before he all but kills her himself. I will love to watch this."

"I'm assuming this isn't the only reason you've come to pay me a visit tonight..." Nicnevin tensed, then relaxed as Nephamael came up behind her and rested his hands lightly on the place between her shoulders and her neck. They were cold enough to startle, but in a pleasant sort of way, making her shiver.

"What other reason do I ever come to visit you for?" he whispered softly against her neck.

"A tempting offer," she sighed, reaching behind her to wind his hair through her fingers. "Yes, you tempt me more strongly than perhaps even my own consort once did. Such a pity you weren't around back then...I might have preferred you in his place. You have a way of pleasing me that most cannot achieve."

"A bold and flattering declaration," he pointed out, kissing the curve down from her neck to her shoulder. And indeed it was; such things were not often spoken, even in private, from an ancient queen to her relatively young knight. Not even hers anymore.

She sighed and tilted her head to the side, allowing him more room and encouraging his kiss. She let him suck on her awhile, enjoying the feel of his mouth on her, then pulled away and turned to meet his eyes, her own glittering like crystal glass.

She pressed her body against him tightly, his warmth making her shiver with pleasure. She rested her head on his shoulder for a second, allowing the desire to rise and swell within her as he slid his hand slowly down her back, tracing her spine lightly, then back up. After a moment's hesitation, she licked from his neck up to his mouth and kissed him, heat mounting and cresting in a wave.

His soft lips returned her kiss without restraint; her fingers entwined in his hair and her hips rocked against his slowly but firmly. She allowed herself to bite his lower lip lightly, trying not to get too carried away, but teasing him at the same time. She flicked her tongue against his lips as if requesting entry, but had teasingly refused to follow through with her intentions.

She felt one of his hands begin to slide up her leg and under her dress, stroking high on the inside of her thigh. The other held the back of her neck as his tongue, which had been teasing her lips right back, slipped into her mouth, catching her pleasantly off guard. _She_ had wanted in _his _mouth, but she had played with him too long first.

Her hands slid to his attractively narrow hips, pulling him to her even more tightly, pleased by the way the bones curved in suggestively. She craved the taste of his sleek, bare skin like the taut, warm flesh of a silver apple. Her lips and tongue were slick with his saliva, all thirst and longing.

She moaned a little, stroking the underside of his tongue with hers as his probed the ridges on the roof of her mouth. Both of his hands slid up under her dress now, cupping her buttocks and holding her against him. She whimpered and let her hands run up his body to stroke the side of his face and his neck as they kissed.

He bit and sucked her lower lip, stopping every now and then to flick his tongue into her mouth. After awhile of this she tried to do the same to him, but he wouldn't let her; he pulled away and brought his hands up to her neck so he could kiss and lick up from her collarbone to the hollow of her throat, She tilted her head back and moaned as be began to kiss down toward her breasts, and that was when the door opened.

"Your sacrifice is ready, m'lady," the servant intoned disinterestedly, before she noticed what the two had been doing. Her violet eyes flickered from Nicnevin to Nephamael, who was still leaning against her and whispering something against her neck. She still had her arms around him, but she seemed to be paying attention to the servant.

Nicnevin raised a scarlet brow. "Well?" she snapped impatiently, irritated to be interrupted, and slightly embarrassed to have been caught in a tryst with Nephamael when she should have been making arrangements for the Tithe . Belatedly, she wondered what had happened to the redcap she had sent, but decided it wasn't important. "Bring her to me. I shall return to the Court."

The servant nodded, her tangled blue-green hair catching the light, and shut the door. Nicnevin listened as the sound of the servant's bare feet trailed down the hall, and Nephamael continued to kiss her neck. When the sound had grown far enough from them to her liking, she shoved Nephamael away and delivered a sharp blow to the side of his face. He only laughed.

"You have no business hanging all over me when we both have important matters to attend to!"

"You know you enjoy it. Don't pretend you don't." He leaned in and gave her a last lingering kiss, then said, "Farewell mistress. I want to see some death." With that, he turned and left, leaving her alone to ponder whether those words meant more than they seemed to at first. The way he'd said it had sounded sort of naughty.


	11. Wings of the Night

**AN: Ah, the long-awaited Chapter 11. I have not abandoned it, no; I shall continue. Nothing bothers me more than an unfinished fanfiction. **

**I am extremely proud of this chapter, yes I am. **

Nephamael made his way down through the dark, winding passageways of the Unseelie Court, back under the hill, Corny trailing behind him like death itself often did. Nephamael wondered how long he'd last, how long before he broke. Maybe even tonight; he didn't seem too stable. That would be a pity. Plenty more to get out of this one, he thought.

When he entered into the brugh once more, an air of tension and excitement, even, had settled upon the scene. The air seemed to get closer, heavier. The edge upon which it teetered was sharp enough to cut.

He slipped through the crowd with frighteningly graceful ease; it parted for him without the requirement of even a threatening glace. _It seems my reputation precedes me_.

He managed to acquire a spot close to the dais where the sacrifice was being performed, and watched with a smirk as Nicnevin's clear voice rang out:

"What is the sacrifice we offer?"

Nephamael shivered. He_ lived_ for this night.

His gaze flickered to Kaye, who was now chained and squirming apprehensively, to his delight. Even where he stood, he could feel her paper-thin magic crackling slightly, attempting to throw the glamour off. Why was she even _trying_? That glamour was thicker than her own body; no sense in using her sadly underdeveloped ability in a vain endeavor to peel it back just enough to breathe a bit. It wasn't like she needed to breathe much longer, anyway.

He reached into a pocket in his coat and stroked Silarial's amulet, feeling the power flare and surge, shocking up his arm. He couldn't wait for the moment he could let it go, that almost violent release.

By then her corpse would be cold and still, lying inert on the colder marble of the dais. He longed to see Nicnevin's face, a pallid mask of shock and frigid beauty. Blank and white like freshly fallen snow.

He realized he was staring at Kaye, and she was staring back. Staring like she _knew_.

He wanted to flash a smile at her, but if he was mistaken...That would surely give his intentions away...Either that, or he'd come off as reassuring, which he didn't want.

_Nicnevin._ He felt something twist. What if _she_ knew? What if she knew and wasn't letting on, had some secret way to kill him before his plan could be carried out? Some hidden way around it?

No, no, clearly he was being ridiculous. Such thoughts were fleeting paranoia and nothing more. There was nothing to back this steadily rising panic, nothing...Surely not the way her eyes flickered over to him just before she raised the knife above her tethered victim, or the terrible, threatening finality of her voice as it echoed throughout the hollow sidhe:

"Let the compact be sealed in blood."

Nephamael couldn't stand it any longer. He jerked his hand away from the amulet as if burned by it. He couldn't afford to be as impatient was he was.

A collective gasp from the amassed throng that was by now a living thing to him:

Their sacrifice had spoken, although her words were soft, inaudible. Roiben was up and moving now, the sharp sound of metal grating as he drew his sword. Suddenly Nephamael was entranced by the sight of blood, the smell. He ran his tongue along his teeth, searching for the taste. He heard the throng cry out, screaming for it. He longed to join them in their shrieking.

Instead, he laughed.

The pixie was jerking at her chains like a dog. _Now she knows._

He closed his eyes and inhaled the sweet panic like an addict. He caressed the amulet as one would a lover.

His trance was interrupted by a ringing clash. Nicnevin was dead; had the fool really killed her? The sacrifice struggled and howled under the body.

Nephamael unleashed the power from within the amulet, causing Kaye's flesh to peel back like burning paper .

Roiben stilled and stared with hollow eyes. His opponents did not hesitate to take advantage of this.

Another sharp, wild laugh choked from Nephamael He allowed himself to scream with the others now; it tore from his throat with unbridled passion. This was true elation, riding the wings of the night. The unified sound of the crowd roared in his ears; time seemed to slow as more death unfolded.

He screamed until he was raw and panting raggedly, until several knights lay dead and Kaye and Roiben had escaped into the dark.

Nephamael pushed forward and leapt onto the dais with fearsome grace, slipping through spilled blood. He looked out over his Host dazedly. He licked his lips and spoke, his voice a painful croak as he slumped into his ornate wooden throne:

"I am your King." Then, as an afterthought, "Bring me wine."


	12. A Demanding Request

**AN: Hello! If I seem to disappear for extended periods of time, I probably haven't died. I have a few hours of spare time every couple days, and most of those times I have better things to do than get on the Internet. I _do_ love to write, and I wish I had more time to do so, but...until about November (which is when marching season ends), it'll be slow going. And this year, I'm planning to be involved in more afterward, so...yeah. I guess you just won't see me much during the school year.**

**But I'll try!**

**Oh, and PS: I have an excellent idea for The Beginning of the End.**

* * *

"Nephamael..." Ethine sighed deeply in an attempt to steel herself for what was to come. After their last encounter, she was much more wary of him, knowing that he was almost literally capable of anything, especially with his new position as King of the Unseelie Court.  
He looked icy and imposing, as a Lord of the Night Court should look. He gave the impression of a marble statue; his skin looked so smooth and white and his eyes seemed to be made of glass. He stared at her like something unpleasant he had stepped in, or, maybe more accurately, something that had run out into his path, and that he'd had to deal with. "What?" he snapped irritably, as if she had demanded something out of him.

She decided not to waste time with petty chitchat, with the pretense that they had remained anything more than coldly hostile acquaintances. He was a danger to her; she was a potential victim to him. It was as simple as that. She knew she took a great risk in coming here to plead for Roiben's life.

She remembered what Roiben had said to her once he ha discovered her association with Nephamael:

_"Please, Ethine, believe me when I say that there is little joy to be found in loving another who does not return your love."_

She had attempted to shrug off his words with the predictable "You couldn't possibly understand" cliche, but she had known inwardly that he was right. He _could_ understand, and very well, at that. He had been considerably hurt when she had shot back with that, but she had not given much thought to it at the time. Now she was wishing that she had had the chance to apologize before he was subjected to such torture, even death--and it was sure to be painful--under Nephamael's rule. How typical of Nephamael to ruin everything.

"Please, I implore you to release my brother. He has endured much in his years in his service to Nic--your--court, and--" She winced at this painful blunder.

"No." He didn't address her mistake, merely cut her off with a sharp refusal.

"Please, Nephamael, have mercy."

"It does you no good to beg for mercy from me. That is one thing I do not give. Never have, never will." He stated this so matter-of-factly that it shocked Ethine. How could she have ever been attracted to this monster?

"Fine," she sighed, resigning herself to a sort of compromise, although it pained her to do so. "Keep him for awhile, have your fun, but then, please... you _must_ let him go."

"Oh, _really_?" He leaned forward and fixed her with his intense gaze; she seemed to have forgotten how threatening it was He certainly did not seem to appreciate her telling him what _he_, the Lord of the Night Court, _must_ do. "For that, I will simply have to keep him as long as I wish. I am a very impatient man, Ethine, and I tire easily of my amusements, which is quite unfortunate for your brother." He smiled poisonously, making Ethine's stomach clench in fear and revulsion. "I would advise you to enjoy the short amount of time he will remain among the living. In fact, I may keep my eye on you yourself."

He laughed, and for a moment, the deep, silky sound soothed her--until, that is, she remembered exactly why he was laughing.

"No! You can't! Surely--"

"Someone, please, remove her from my sight," Nephamael sighed and flourished one elegant hand in a dismissive gesture, resting his head in the other.

As Nephamael's surrounding guards dragged a distraught and helplessly struggling Ethine away, Nephamael called out to her, "Oh, and Ethine? You will learn not to make demands of me, you can be sure of that."


	13. Cut on Glass

**AN: Hello. Nope, still not dead. Still haven't given up on this, either. This chapter has taken me a long time to write, but here it is! Enjoy! I think Chapter 14 may be the last chapter, too!

* * *

**Nephamael turned his eyes upon his own reflection, reaching out long, white fingers to stroke the bitterly cold surface and allowing a pang of emotion to pierce him like frigid iron. Nicnevin was dead, and he was only beginning to truly feel the effects of her absence, like the ghost of a limb that had been lost. Or perhaps a limb that had been willingly severed, but the phantom ached more than expected. Perhaps he had not been the very instrument that had been used to cut, but had wielded the blade all the same. 

He had expected to feel nothing, to remain as smooth and cold as the glass in the mirror, but Nicnevin, even in her death, just _had_ to be sharp enough to cut him. In fact, glass described her very well. She had been both delicate and razor-sharp, hard and tough and paper-thin all at once. She could make him bleed, like shards of broken glass, sharp as her bones.

Now her bones were actually bare--perhaps he could find them and use them as weapons, if they had not been consumed. It was even romantic, in a twisted sort of way. Poetic, almost.

After another empty, glassy moment, he tore himself away from the icy-smooth shine to revel in the glorious heat and frenzy of yet another revel. He swept out into the fierce cool of the autumn night, allowing the moonlight to illuminate his marble texture of his skin and the graceful curves of his bones, allowed the night to embrace him.

* * *

Corny shivered, still haunted by the feel of the faery king's soft touch and the tender bruise forming on his face from the blow. He had been asking for it, really. Literally. The masochist in him had finally been unleashed, it seemed. Nephamael had thrown back his head and laughed, baring both his perfect throat and vampiric teeth. Now cold metal shackles bit into Corny's wrists, and he could feel it all, hypersensitive from Nephamael's treatment

And speak of the devil--he stumbled in, far more intoxicated than he would have admitted, and his poor pet had been without food for some time. Such a pity that they nearly always died of neglect.

"Oh, poor thing, did I leave you here too long?" He collapsed onto his bed, ignoring Corny completely, and arched his back so hard that the bones cracked loudly--invitingly, to Corny's ears. He wanted to contort that slender, flexible body. "I'm far too exhausted for you, tonight," he sighed, "after what I let all the pretty ones do to me."

"Oh, come on, just let me sleep with you, please..." He needed the warmth. A few hours ago, Nephamael hardly struck him as cuddly, but now he would fall asleep instantly with that body next to his.

"Maybe," Nephamael sniffed, feigning indecision. After a somewhat lengthy stretch of silence, Corny realized that Nephamael had actually curled up and gone to sleep. Damn faery.

"_Nephamael_! Please..._please_ let me down from here!"

Nephamael opened one eye, not even bothering to open the filmy, catlike inner lid. "Let me sleep, boy."

"I won't," Corny insisted, "Not until you let me go."

"Let you _go_? I thought all you wanted was to be with me, never leave this place." Nephamael sat up now, fixing Corny with his piercing stare.

"Just let me out of the fucking chains, asshole," Corny growled, voice cracking. Despite his defensive attitude, his emotions raged in a storm of conflict: On the one hand, he loved Nephamael's extreme unpredictability, his tendency to go from a stroking to a beating in mere seconds. On the other, he simply wanted to go back to that dull, faded, trailer-trash life, if it meant some food and time alone. Time to _recover_ from Nephamael. For recovery was quite necessary after an experience with Nephamael.

But Nephamael didn't look so fearsome anymore. In fact, he appeared rather calm. Corny felt anticipation leap into his throat as Nephamael approached, sauntering with those long, beautiful legs.

"Promise you won't demand too much of me," he purred into Corny's ear, caressing his wrist near the shackles with a slender finger. Corny melted, causing the chains to clink as they sagged under his weight.

Nephamael smirked as he carefully unfastened the chains around Corny"s wrists and enveloped the shaken boy into his arms. Corny shuddered and clung to Nephamael's warm body, grateful for the contact. In a bizarre, curious moment, he wondered what faery blood tasted like--surely not metallic, like human blood. No iron. Maybe, he thought, it tasted sweet as the bloodlike juice of those silver apples.

Corny flinched in surprise as he felt the wet, slippery sensation of Nephamael's tongue sliding against his temple. This brought a low, silky laugh from the faery, not allowing Corny to solidify completely. Once again, with recovery.

Nephamael carried Corny to the bed and set the boy on it gently, settling into the bed with him. He didn't protest as Corny hesitantly curled against him and soon dropped into sleep.


End file.
